Cracked Glass
by Always Wondering
Summary: Spencer Reid is tired of being left in the dust, and all he wants is for it to stop. But, how much is he willing to sacrifice to combat his loneliness?
1. Chapter 1

**Notes:** Takes place after 3x02 (In Name and Blood AKA In Birth and Death)

_Abandoned. _It was the only word that kept ringing in Spencer Reid's mind. Gideon had abandoned him. His father had abandoned him. He was useless, incompetent, and worthless. He dug his nails into the leather of his couch, staring at a small crack in the ceiling. Even his schoolmates found joy in mocking and tormenting him, despite how much he did their homework and helped them cheat on tests. In the end, they all laughed at him and left him in the dust. The insides of his arms ached for the needle, his body shivering for the only thing that would release him.

Spencer stood up from his couch, shaking his head. He had to stop thinking such poisonous thoughts or he would never feel any better. He went over to his coffee maker, pouring some already brewed coffee into a mug. He needed something – anything – to fill the empty void in his stomach. But he knew, deep down, that food and beverages wouldn't do it.

His arms hissed, and he winced as he took a sip of the tepid coffee. He left it alone too long. He dumped the brown liquid into the sink, secretly wishing he could go with it.

Spencer had to go somewhere. His apartment walls felt like they were closing in on him, suffocating his very being. Plus, staying there only brought back memories of getting high, which wasn't exactly helping his predicament.

He brushed some lint off of his shirt before exiting his room and cramming himself into the elevator. His body was shaking with little tremors now, and he had trouble holding his hand steady enough to press the first floor button.

_I'm stronger than that, _He thought as his body begged for the drugs. _I don't need it._

The elevator began to move, slowly descending.

_Although, one last time couldn't hurt. I can just stop by my dealer's house. She'd be there. _He shook again, a small smile playing at the sides of his lips. He could easily get one more vial, enough to last him the week. If he really saved, he could probably go a month, and then he would stop again. He'd been through the withdrawal before, he could handle it again.

_Besides, dilaudid, or hydromorphone, is an analgesic drug. That means it relieves pain, and who says the pain on the inside isn't as real as the pain on the outside?_ He was reassuring himself now. It had to be the right thing to do. He had to do something. Nobody else would help him. He had to take matters into his own hands.

The elevator doors slid open, and he stepped out into the lobby. A girl was working at a desk, and she looked up and smiled as Spencer passed.

_There goes the addict_, she thought warily. She's seen him come in and out at odd hours of the night, track marks lining his arms. She didn't know he has been clean for two months now, but to her it wouldn't have mattered if she did know. In her mind, once you're an addict, you're always an addict. She continued with the paperwork on her desk, watching the young genius in her periphery.

Spencer stepped outside on the sidewalk, shivering slightly as a breeze swept over him. He should of worn a sweatshirt or a jacket; anything to make his arms feel less exposed. He rubbed the insides of his arms, feeling his body quake as he did.

"No!" He said out loud. His knees buckled, and he fell to the ground, grasping the insides of his arms and shaking slightly. His voice dropped to a whisper, "I don't need you."

He rocked, closing his eyes to calm his heartbeat. The woman inside the lobby looked on with mild curiosity, wondering if she would have a show. Spencer opened his eyes, looking up at the stars above that twinkled down at him.

He got up, his body shaking. He took off running, desperately trying to escape his own demons. His feet pounded against the sidewalk, the only noise penetrating the silence of the air. He ran and ran, further into the night as past memories haunted him from the recesses of his mind.

His legs began to ache, but he kept sprinting. Suddenly, he could hear soft rock spilling onto the sidewalk from a small bar. He slowed himself down, stopping in front of the bar. His stomach growled for alcohol.

_Alcohol is legal. Alcohol is safer_. He slipped inside the bar, hoping to forget his troubles.

Jennifer Jareau, known as JJ by her friends, sat on the edge of her bed with her phone pressed against her ear. The case she was hearing about was bad, and the team would have to get on it immediately. She glanced over at the clock on her nightstand. It was nine at night. They've certainly left at odder hours, but she knew the others wouldn't be happy, especially with the sore of Gideon leaving still festering in their minds.

"Alright, we'll be on it immediately. I'll call everyone. Thank you." She said into the receiver, hanging up the phone and taking a minute to gather her thoughts.

She dialed the rest of the team, breathlessly explaining the situation. Each member gave an audible sigh, some even saying something off the receiver to a person in the background. And, as they always have, they each responded with a 'I'll be right there' before hanging up. JJ knew the drill; she was so used to it that it almost didn't affect her anymore.

She held down the number three – Spencer's speedial on her phone – and waited. After a few rings it went to voicemail.

_Odd, _JJ thought, trying the number again with the same result, _Reid usually picks up on the first ring._

She tried calling him a few more times, but the outcome was always the same: voicemail. Hesitantly, JJ put her cell into her pocketbook and went into the bathroom to get ready. She would need all the strength she had.


	2. Chapter 2

Spencer was working on his second drink when he felt the welcoming buzz work up his body. Everything felt slower and more tolerable, but his mind felt hazy. And to Spencer Reid, a murky mind was a reason to panic. He quickly began reciting statistics and data in his head to keep himself on his toes.

"Mind if I sit here?" He heard a voice say. He looked up at a small brunette pointing at the stool next to his. He found her strangely attractive. It was probably the alcohol, but he was feeling uncharacteristically brave. He opened his lips to say yes, but instead the words on his mind spilled out.

"Did you know that the risk for on-the-job accidents increase by thirty percent at night?" He looked at the bartender as he scrubbed the inside of a glass mug. "In high-risk jobs like this, that number can be up to twenty percent higher."

The girl giggled, sitting down next to Spencer. He felt his heart rate increase a little, so he took another sip of his beer to combat it.

"You're Dr. Spencer Reid, right?" The girl said excitedly, leaning in close. Spencer's lips felt dry so he licked them slightly.

"Uh, yeah. How did you… how do you know that?"

"You gave a lecture at my college once. I found it so fascinating. I saw you walk in here and I tailed after you. I just had to speak to you in person."

"Oh." Spencer didn't know what to say. He took another swig of his drink, looking around awkwardly for something to talk about. He looked back at the girl, who was asking the bartender for water. The bartender smiled flirtatiously at her, nodding and getting her a bottle of water. Spencer felt oddly jealous. The bartender was having a longer conversation with the girl than he was, and she came in to talk to him.

The girl turned back towards Spencer, flipping some of her hair over her shoulder. "I just find it so amazing how far you've gotten at your age, you know?"

Spencer smiled shyly. "Yeah, I guess." He felt so stupid. Why couldn't he think of anything to say? He moved his bangs out of his face. "What's your name?"

"August." She responded, taking a sip of her water.

"That's odd." Spencer said, scrunching up his face. August tilted her head questioningly.

"Odd?"

"August is usually a male's name. It means venerated or lordly. The female version is usually Augusta."

August frowned, twirling her water in her hand slightly. Spencer felt like somebody kicked him in the gut as he started to realize what he had said.

"Not that I mean… what I mean was that… August is a beautiful name." He grabbed his glass to take another sip of beer, but it was empty. And an empty mug brought back his empty heart. He fished around in his pocket, but all his fingers brushed against were lint and fabric.

August looked down at Spencer's attempts to find enough money for another cup. She smiled brazenly, digging out a five from her purse. "Need something?"

Spencer looked at the bill she waved in the air in front of him. He felt his heart thud against his chest before returning to its normal pace. He licked his lips at the thought of more alcohol.

"Yeah, but I don't want to be a bother." Spencer lied. He wanted to reach out and snap it out of her delicate little fingers. He needed more beer. He needed to forget.

"Alright, but you're going to have to work for it." August said playfully, pulling the bill away from Spencer's face. His eyes followed it hungrily.

"Work for it?"

August smiled, putting the bill onto the bar as she leaned in and kissed Spencer on the lips. He whimpered in surprise, feeling the urge to draw back and run. But something inside him held him in place, the desire to be wanted overruled his trepidation, so he closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling that rose in his chest.

She pulled away, but only a few centimeters from his lips. "Yeah, work for it." She whispered, leaning in again for more. Spencer turned his head in response, allowing them to kiss more deeply.

August pulled away again, smiling and fiddling with the five between her fingertips. Spencer looked at the floor, his mind foggy.

"See you around?" August said, getting up from her seat. She handed the bartender the five. "For the water."

Spencer looked up at her, his eyes following her hips as she walked out the door. He dug his nails into his pants, trying to find the words for what he was feeling. But, as he has found in the past, profiling himself just didn't work.

"You're a lucky kid." The bartender said, pointing at the opening in the doorway. "You're girlfriend is smokin'." The bartender laughed, swiping Spencer's empty mug and drifting away, cleaning the glass as he watched the other patrons.

Spencer got up, confused, leaving the bar and slowly making his way towards his apartment.

**At the BAU:**

JJ was briefing the team, showing them pictures of smiling faces on the screen behind her. Everybody was accounted for but Spencer, and the rest of the group kept glancing over at his empty chair.

"And in ten minutes, he managed to do this." JJ said, clicking a button on the remote in her hand. The smiling faces were no more, and instead pictures of mutilated bodies drowning in pools of their own blood appeared. They were in the middle of the living room, precious family portraits shattered around them. The smiles of each photograph were burned.

Aaron Hotchner was thinking carefully in the back. It was a bad case, and they had to go immediately. All attempts at contacting Reid had been futile, and he had no choice to leave without him.

"Planes up in ten." Hotch said, getting up and leaving the table. Derek Morgan watched him leave, looking at the stricken faces of his comrades.

"Reid isn't here yet." He said the words on everybody's mind. JJ shrugged, following in Hotch's footsteps out the door. He turned towards Emily Prentiss, who scribbled something in a folder. The rest of the team got up and slowly walked out, but not before taking one last glance at the desolate chair.

Spencer or no Spencer, they had to do the case. But they were all questioning his absence in their minds, and it was all the same thing. Did it have something to do with Gideon?


	3. Chapter 3

Spencer paced and stumbled around his apartment. He replayed the bar scene in his mind again and again, trying to make sense of what happened. He didn't like things he couldn't understand. The unknown was unfamiliar territory.

He had every nuance of the conversation committed to memory, but that wasn't a problem for him. The brunette. The smile. The name. The kiss. He was just unsure how it all happened so quickly and without him realizing it was coming. He slumped down on the couch, pushing the bangs away that fell in front of his eyes. His mind was alive, swarms of bees buzzing inside of it with thousands of thoughts and questions on their wings.

He looked over and saw his cell phone sticking out from between his couch cushions. He furrowed his brow, rubbing his pocket where it had once been. It must have fallen out before he left. He cautiously reached for it, flipping it open to discover he had twenty missed calls. His heart was like a bomb against his ribcage.

_They tried to call me_, he thought in his panic, quickly returning the call to JJ. After two rings she picked up.

"Reid?" JJ asked. She sounded unsure.

"My phone was in the couch." Spencer slurred. The alcohol was starting to take its full effect now. He should have had something lighter.

"Excuse me?" JJ said. The cell reception was shoddy at best, and the static coupled with Spencer's slurring made it almost impossible to make out what the young man was saying.

"My phone!" Spencer groaned, frustrated. He pointed to the place he had found the device, as if JJ could see. "You called me."

"It's Reid." He heard her say to people in the background. She was talking to the team, who all stared at her from their places on the plane. She was currently sitting next to Hotch, who sighed. JJ put the phone back up to her ear to address Spencer. "Where were you? We called you."

"I left my phone at my house." Spencer said stupidly. "In the couch right there."

JJ cupped the receiver so Spencer wouldn't hear her as she whispered to Hotch. "I think he's drunk." She removed her hand and spoke to Spencer again. "Spence, are you all right? We're on the plane right now. We had to leave."

"You left without me?" Spencer whimpered. They left him. Just like Gideon. Just like his father. He shook, tears forming at the back of his eyes that he barely managed to blink back down.

"We waited for as long as we could, Spence, but –"

"Yeah," Spencer spat, cutting her off. It was a bit more vicious than he intended. "See you later, then."

He clicked the phone off, tossing it angrily to the floor. He cried out in frustration, plopping down on the couch. He started to cry, wallowing in his own self-pity. He felt pathetic and stupid and useless. They didn't need him to work the case. They would have waited for Hotch or Morgan. But they left without him. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew they waited for as long as they could, but it was hidden behind his own feelings of anger and betrayal.

_I do everything and learn everything and I try as hard as I can and they still don't like me! _Spencer shouted in his mind. He felt like a lost dog, trudging through life trying to befriend people who couldn't care less about him.

"I should've just gotten the dilaudid!" He cried out to the walls. They sat unmoving as always. He began to weep. He grabbed his arms and curled into a small ball, making no attempt to calm himself down. Eventually, the tears began to stop and his eyelids felt heavy. He slowly fell asleep, his dreams haunted by the screams of past victims.

When Spencer awoke, his head pounded lightly and his stomach was woozy. It was bearable, however, and he slowly got up and made his way to the kitchen for breakfast. The memories of last night slowly flooded back, but he held them down with dry cereal. Everything was clearer now, and he felt stupid for being so upset at the team leaving. He thought about calling JJ to apologize, but he figured they'd be working.

He stuffed more dry cereal in his mouth, but it was obvious that is stomach wouldn't accept anymore food. He swallowed what he had in his mouth and returned the box to its proper place in the cabinet. The team would be gone for a while, and he wished suddenly that they would come back for him. He had no idea what to do without them.

_They wouldn't want to come back for me._ He thought cynically. He plopped down on the couch again, looking up at the crack that snaked across the ceiling. It was oddly comforting. Spencer often got high on the couch, looking up at the crack as he left reality. It was like a fracture between the world of pain and the world of freedom. Spencer sighed, rolling to his side and surveying the room. It was so empty. He never really bothered to get too much furniture because he was always away. Before he even knew it, he was slowly falling asleep again. But instead of maimed bodies and haunted faces he dreamt of August and her smile.


End file.
